Politics and Marriage
by HeidiBug731
Summary: Alistair and Anora are married, and neither of them are happy about it. With Ferelden barely saved from civil war, can the two of them find compromise and maybe even happiness or will their rule end in bitterness and ruin? Takes place between the end of Dragon Age Origins and Dragon Age Awakening.
1. Crossroads

Alistair was angry.

Life certainly hadn't turned out the way he had planned. Liara, The Hero of Ferelden, once his best friend, had completely betrayed him. Loghain Mac Tir, murderer of Duncan and countless others, was still alive, Liara insisting on sparing his life. Both of them had survived the slaying of the archdemon, a feat that was supposed to be impossible.

Liara wouldn't tell him how they had survived, though with Morrigan's sudden disappearance he suspected she'd had something to do with it. He had no idea how though, and Liara denied Morrigan's involvement, attributing her rapid departure to her selfishness and the completion of their mission. Regardless, it was clear Liara no longer trusted him, just as he no longer trusted her.

But who could blame him? She'd forced him into this situation! She'd advocated him for the crown, and she'd arranged for the marriage of him and Anora, widowed Queen to his half brother, Cailan, and daughter of the betrayer of the armies at Ostagar. Worse, Alistair was certain Loghain had passed his ruthlessness onto his offspring.

Did Liara think he would he'd be happy about it? Did she think he'd make the best of it all? True, he had wanted the crown - Liara had even held a part in talking him into it. But he had imagined it with Loghain dead, Anora exiled, and Liara . . . well, it certainly didn't matter what he had imagined. Things had turned out very differently, and he had no reason to trust his friend anymore.

Alistair steadied his shaking hands on either side of the small table in front of him. A decorative vase sat in the middle of the table between his hands. It was probably worth a small fortune, and he wanted nothing more than to smash it. But he restrained the urge. He had to compose himself for the banquet.

His stomach churned at the thought. He didn't want to sit at the head of the table next to Anora, pretending to be happy while countless nobles offered their congratulations at their marriage. His friends would be there too, and he didn't even want to see them.

Didn't they realize this was his life? Didn't they realize they had ruined it? Worse! He had let them talk him into this! Something about responsibility and bloodlines and the future of Ferelden. He wanted to storm out and throw up his hands at it all, but it was too late. He and Anora were married. If he had ever had the opportunity to back out, the moment had passed.

Once the archdemon had been defeated, Arl Emon had insisted on their marrying immediately. The ceremony had just ended. The wedding had been short, probably due to the not unjustified fear that Alistiar might back out at the last moment. He had been fuming at his friends and loved ones all morning. Now he and Anora were married, and the anger hadn't subsided.

After the ceremony, he and Anora had been led back to their chambers to change for the banquet. Servants were supposed to assist him with the change, but he had requested they remain outside while he tired to regain his sanity. At least he wouldn't have to wear this stupid groomsman outfit any longer. He ripped open the buttons that fell down from his left shoulder across his chest and flung the ornamental jacket, dressed in the country's colors and the royal crest, to the floor. In earlier times and in love, when he had thought of marriage, he had never imaged it would be like this.

After he had thrown off his trousers and thoroughly abused his wedding uniform, he let the servants in. They exclaimed at his trampled garment and muttered in foreign languages about his behavior. He had expected all of this and stood silently as they dressed him anew.

In too short a time, he and Anora were thrust together once more to pose as a happy couple. He didn't so much as glance at her as they walked from their rooms to the banquet hall. Various nobles and important person were seated around the table, some of which he didn't know and others he wished he didn't have the pleasure of knowing.

His friends were oddly scattered. He found Liara and Zevran seated with Shianni and Cyrion who had been welcomed from the alienage, much to the dismay of some of the nobles. Wynne was seated with the First Enchanter and a few others from the Circle. Oghren had found his way out of his assigned seat. Already drunk, he was attempting to form comradery with a few disgruntled nobles.

Alistair actually smiled. A little disorder and unhappy noblemen? What better scene to reflect his mood? He dared turn his face to Anora and saw she also looked displeased at Oghren's antics. Excellent!

Returning to his search, he found Shale standing against the wall a ways from where Wynne sat. The golem stood as still as a statue, and Alistair wished the figure might decide to become as friendly as the disruptive dwarf and scare all the noblemen away so the banquet could end.

It took him sometime to find Leliana. She had decided to join the musicians hired to play for the hall. She caught his eye and smiled encouragingly. He turned his gaze from her, remembering she had been one of the most supportive of his marriage to Anora. Remembering that he was angry with all of his former companions, he turned his attention to the nobles, many of whom he had no real reason to dislike just yet, though he was certain he'd find reason soon enough.

He would have liked to have remained seated the whole banquet, but this was not allowed. He and Anora were expected to move around the hall and converse with their guests. Oddly, the experience wasn't too terrible. The worse he had to put up with was the constant stream of congratulations. Any questions of children or the future of Ferelden were headed off by Emon, who insisted such queries could wait and that the newly wedded couple should be allowed to enjoy their first few hours of marriage.

The real hardship of the night came when his former companions rose at once to wish him farewell, off to whatever adventures lay in store without him. It was Liara who approached him first. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, uncertain.

"There's nothing I can say, is there?" she asked.

"No," he responded coldly. Their last conversation had mainly consisted of him yelling at her, which he had no issue repeating. But if she were to remain civil, then he was willing to try the same.

"In that case . . ." she gave a nod. "Goodbye."

He turned to follow the back of her head as she walked away, but at that moment Zevran clapped him on the shoulder.

"Alistair, my good man!" he cried as though this were a truly joyous occasion. "You are quite the lucky one, no? She is a beauty." He gestured at Anora who was thankfully too far away to hear.

"Yes," Alistair said because he could think of nothing else to say. His relationship with Zevran had always been slightly strained. There was their first meeting where Zevran had tried to kill him and the rest of his companions. It had taken Alistair a long time to trust the assassin wouldn't slaughter them all while they slept. And then, just when he had started to consider Zevran a good man and maybe even a good friend, Liara chose Zevran over himself.

Zevran bowed. "Maker keep you, as they say." Then he headed after his fiancé.

Not that Alistair held any hard feelings on the matter at this point. It wasn't as though he and Liara could have been together, not with the whole ruling the country business. And it was clear that he and Liara were not so common minded as he had thought. No one who could have possibly been right for him could have betrayed him like this.

No, Alistair held no hard feelings as far as relationships were concerned, just with Liara's decisions on Anora and Loghain.

"I know it may look bleak now." Alistair jumped at Wynne's words as she came up beside him and clasped his hand. "But try to make the best of it," she told him. "It may turn out better than you think."

"I'll try," he said. But they were just words. He didn't really care about whatever wisdom Wynne was trying to impart upon him. He was bitter, and soon he wouldn't have her or Liara to lecture him about it.

"Young man," Wynne said. "One of these days, you will realize my advice is valuable to you."

"When that day comes," he told her, "I'll eat my shoe."

"When that day comes," she chuckled, "I hope you will still have all those teeth in that pretty face of yours." She patted his hand before taking her leave.

Alistair almost smiled. There were moments, very brief ones, where he almost missed his friends . . . until he remembered they had betrayed him. They had made the decision to leave him here with this life he didn't want or cared for. They all insisted this was for best. None of them thought to rescue him as he would surely have rescued them.

* * *

Anora had asked herself a number of times since their meeting if Alistair could be any more frustrating. Today, she finally discovered the answer was yes.

Did he not realize this marriage was less than agreeable to her as well? Did he not know that she also felt betrayed by her friends and loved ones who would not support her rule as an unmarried queen? She wasn't happy with the situation either, but she was at least willing to try to be civil.

While she put on a smile and attempted to act pleasant, Alistair appeared determined to remain in a sour mood and impress it on everyone else. She separated from him when they stood to greet their guests. He would need to learn how to behave properly at functions such as this, and she refused to babysit him.

The nobles hid their disapproval of her behind their smiles and congratulations, but she knew what they truly thought of her: that she had been eager to marry Alistair, desperate to maintain the throne; that she was unfit to rule, blemished by her father's betrayal; that she was barren and thus doomed Alistair to an heirless rule. To them, she was an unneeded addition to King Alistair's rule.

Never mind how obviously impulsive, quick to anger, and inexperienced their favored new king was. Never mind how Anora had ruled singlehandedly and successfully during her marriage to Cailan. No, those details were not important. What was important was that she was woman with no blood ties to the throne.

Yes, thoughts of how easily Emon and the other nobles would have cast her aside drove her to anger, but she would keep it to herself. She would remain cordial. The nobles' approval of her and Alistair's union was paramount - something her new husband seemed unable to grasp. Could he at least force the tiniest resemblance of a smile?

The largest embarrassment of the night came when Oghren had to be forced from the hall. Any damage he had done to the reputation of his people was easily made up for by the extemporary nature of Bodahn and Sandal. Any damage done to the nobles' view of her and Alistair as King and Queen . . .

It was The Hero of Ferelden who stopped her as she was making her way to apologize to the noblemen Oghren had drenched in the dwarven ale he had smuggled into the hall.

"I wish you the best," said the blonde elf.

"I . . . appreciate it," Anora admitted. "You'd be the first."

"Don't let Alistair give you too much trouble." The tone in her voice suggested she had experience in the matter. "He'll come around. It just takes him some time."

Anora nodded, unsure she wanted to ask exactly how much time.

"Maker bless you both," Liara bowed and took her leave.

Anora spun around to look for the ale-drenched nobles when another of Alistair's former companions caught up with her.

"A bit of motherly advice from an old woman," said the mage.

Anora sighed. She didn't want advice. She wanted to find the nobles. But a queen is always curtious, and she smiled.

"I know it may be hard at times, but exercise all your patience with your new husband. You may find the two of you have more in common than you think."

That caught her off guard. Her and Alistair have something in common? At best Anora would carry out her rule and her marriage in the same manor she had done with Cailin, singlehandedly without the other's assistance or interference.

But Wynne did not stay to elaborate. She hurried on her way, pulling along with her an Antivan elf who blew Anora a kiss as they passed. It seemed that Wynne knew Anora would not want to converse with the elven gentleman.

Anora spun around again and searched in vain for her disgruntled guests. She assumed they had left to find drier clothing. Anora sighed again. She seemed unable to head off disasters today. Perhaps the wedding ceremony had unsettled her more than she had originally admitted to herself. She was sure tomorrow would be easier.

But the night wasn't over. Once all the guests had left, Anora and Alistair had said their thanks and goodbyes to everyone, and the servants were left to clean the hall, the King and Queen were ushered back to their chambers - more specifically _his _chambers.

Alistair was flabbergasted. "I, uh . . . um . . ."

"It's tradition, Alistair," Anora explained once the servants had taken their leave and shut the door behind them. "It's our wedding night."

He looked horrified. "But! But, I . . . they don't really expect us to-!"

Anora let out a groan of frustration. "Of course not, Alistair!" She fled from the room, opening the side door that led from his chamber to her own.

She flung her wedding veil to the ground. In truth, she was relieved he would not be taking advantage of her, though through tradition and as King, he would be well within his rights to. No, she was upset at his ignorance of _everything_.

How were they supposed to rule together when he didn't know the simplest things! Cailan had stayed out of ruling, but he at least had understood propriety and tradition. Alistair contained no background and no understanding. Even if she got her wish and continued her singlehanded rule, there would still be events like today where they would have to appear together. If he was unwilling or unable to appease the nobles or uphold Kingly duties . . .

Anora sat down on her bed with another sigh. She'd been doing that a lot lately.

He would receive training, she reminded herself. Alistair had not yet proven himself to be a complete idiot. He would learn. But the future of Ferelden hung on him doing more than just learning. He would have to understand that being king or even queen did not mean getting what you wanted. Sometimes you had to things you didn't want to do.


	2. Holding Court

Anora was surprised at Alistair eagerness to learn of royal duties and expectations. At first, she was even pleased. A willingly educated Alistair meant she would not have to put up with his ignorance. But she soon discovered that Alistair's eagerness meant he would not be shying away from his rule the same as Cailan had done.

The fact that she would not be ruling singlehandedly made matters difficult. She and Alistair hardly saw eye to eye on everyday affairs. For two monarchs to rule jointly in opposition . . . well, Anora didn't like to dwell on how disastrous a future that would make. Her best hope was that she and Alistair could remain separate on all matters expect for public appearances. If they could be allowed to make decisions separately, albeit differently, any crises might be avoided.

Alas, that was not to be the case.

It was as she sat on the throne, deciding matters of court, that Alistair joined her in the middle of the procession. Arl Emon and Bann Teagan had insisted Alistair needed some practical experience, but she had expected to have some warning first. Matters of court were delicate affairs, and regardless of how ready Emon might insist Alistair was, Anora had little faith in his patience or ability to reason when faced with unpleasant political situations.

She sent a silent prayer to the Maker that Alistair would simply remain quiet and observe, and for the first two matters he did so. But, as seemed to be the case where Alistair was concerned, she had hoped for too much. As the next nobleman stepped forward and stated his case, she felt her stomach drop.

"Before his passing, Arl Howe made certain promises -"

"No," said Alistair immediately.

"Alistair," Anora tried. "It would be best to hear him out."

"Whatever promises Arl Howe made, be it money, land, or title, they were promises made on the blood of countless humans and elves, and they will not be honored."

The nobleman looked in shock, probably more at Alistair's defense of elves than at the fact his request had not been considered. But the second shock would come soon and would be quickly followed by anger.

Anora had no love or respect for the late Arl, but matters of court needed to be considered fairly. Politics was a delicate balance between rewarding those who both did and did not deserve it. It was not a question of who had earned such claims. More often than not, it was not even a question of what was right. Rather, court was conducted with the concern of keeping peace. A happy noble, even a treacherous one, could mean the different between peace and war.

Anora felt she understood Alistiar's moods by now, and it was not good press him when he was angry. But it was not a shouting match she was trying to avoid, but war itself. Contentment among the nobles was paramount.

"Alistair-" she tried again, quietly and gently. But he either ignored her or didn't hear.

"Know this!" Alistair stood to address the whole hall. Anora wanted nothing more than to disappear, and she resisted the urge to hide her face in her hands. "Any promises made by Arl Howe after King Cailan's death will not be honored, regardless of any documents you may have. Likewise, if you were deprived of any money, land, or title by the Arl during the same time period, they will be returned to you."

He sat down, apparently pleased with himself. Anora left like he had just issued her death sentence. Were their positions reversed with him as queen and she as king, she could overrule him and insist that each situation be reviewed on a case by case basis. The end result may turn out the same, but the nobles were happier when they had their cases heard, not made on such a blanket decision. And she could hardly bring herself to consider the unrest of reversing favors Arl Howe had made, nobles who would have land, money, or title stripped from them.

Mummers ran through the hall. Some nobles left the vicinity altogether, letting their anger known by slammed doors or angry shouts. There would be no recovering from this. Despite her desire to run, Anora held her head high. She and Alistair had to appear united in this matter. Public opposition would only cause further discord.

The rest of the cases went quickly. Anora allowed Alistair to make the remainder of the decisions, confident that he could do worse than he already had. Surprisingly, she found some of his rulings to be quite sensible, but none could make up for his earlier fault.

At last, the procession ended, and Alistair and Anora hurried to the back room, eager to get away but for different reasons.

"I hope you have an explanation for that decree," she insisted once the door had closed behind them and they no longer had an audience.

"What?" he asked, apparently oblivious. "You mean, with Arl Howe?"

"Yes, I mean with Arl Howe," she said, irritated. "Alistair, you can't just make a decree like that."

"The man was a monster, Anora," he pressed. "He sold the elves in the alienage into slavery, murdered members of the Cousland family, and had no qualms about killing you for your father's gain."

"These are simple matters of court, Alistair," Anora explained. "The nobles are after land, titles, and money. We are not declaring treason or execution."

"If the nobles are willing to kill or sell people into slavery to get what they want, then I will make decrees that shall leave them with less than what Howe promised them!" He stormed away from her, infuriated.

But Anora was not going to let him get away that easily. "Do you get that we are still on the precipice of civil war?" she shouted at him. "Do you think that just because the landsmeet declared our rule, the matter is decided?" He had stopped in his walk and turned to face her. "I am the daughter of the man who betrayed Ferelden's previous King. There is little faith in my ability to produce an heir, and the nobles have never been happy with a commoner on the throne. You may have a blood claim, but beyond that you are just as common as I am. The people may like you at the moment, Alistair, but everyone is watching. If we cannot appear united, if the nobles are displeased at your decisions, civil war will start as quickly as it ended. You cannot let your personal feelings get in the way of the fact that as king you _must_ cater to the noblemen for it is _them_ who decide how long you stay on the throne."

She could not press the matter enough. "Alistair, as king, sometimes you have to make sacrifices."

"And if it came down to selling those elves into slavery to save Ferelden," he asked, "would you make the same choice your father made?"

Her initial gut response was 'yes.' If came down to the sacrifice of a few in order to save the whole country, she would do it. Of course, that simple fact was not the same as the complex situation in which her father had been. She knew his choices had been wrong, yet she understood his passion for Ferelden, his mistrust of Orlais, and his knowledge of Cailan's vanity. Had she been in his place, she imagined she would not have gone to the lengths that he had. But she also knew she would have done everything in her power to protect Ferelden. And she was certain there were things she would be willing to do of which Alistair would not approve.

"I will _not _be like Loghain, or Howe, or even _you_!" he yelled when she had no answer for him. "I will not sacrifice what I feel is right for that which I know is wrong!"

His ignorance continued to infuriate her. "You think your morals outweigh everyone else's?" she yelled back. "How many people did you kill on your quest to slay the archdemon?"

He recoiled. "That . . . that's hardly the same," he said. "They . . . they were on the wrong side."

"And that's how you console yourself?" she asked. "By convincing yourself they were just as evil as you believe my father was?"

"Your father _murdered_ the army at Ostagar!"

"The darkspawn murdered the army at Ostagar!" she yelled back. "Do you really think that with the masses they faced, my father's forces would have saved them?"

"It would have _helped_!"

"My father made a sacrifice," she said. "He could have charged his men into battle, facing certain death for all of them or he could have retreated and saved whom he could." She took a step toward Alistair. "You were there. You saw the darkspawn's numbers. You tell me which was more likely to happen."

He turned away from her and didn't speak, silently fuming to himself. She knew she was right. But this was not the time for gloating. She was trying to prove a point, and now that she had done so, she needed to calm Alistair down before any agreement could be made between them.

"My father was wrong," she told him. "He was wrong about the Wardens, about the Blight, about Arl Howe. He was wrong about many things. But I knew Cailan, and I knew his reckless nature for glorious battle. My father made the decisions he did because he thought it was best for the people in his care."

She paused, but Alistair didn't speak, so she continued.

"My father and Cailan may have had disagreements, but I know his decision on the battlefield that day was not made lightly. It was difficult for him to abandon the King, but it was a sacrifice he felt he had to make for the good of others. As king, there are sacrifices that you will have to make, sacrifices that you might not like making. But you must learn to do what you have to for the good of all."

Alistair was silent, and for a moment Anora thought she had won. But when he turned to her she saw the anger had not died down from his face.

"Your mistake," he said, "was comparing me to your father."

She bristled. This conversation was going nowhere. "Fine," she told him. "Let your anger take you and Ferelden with it, for that's exactly what will happen if you don't stop acting like an impudent child!"

And then, having put up with all she could, she stormed from the room.

* * *

_Who, in the name of Andraste, does she think she is? _Alistair paced his room back and forth, fuming.

How _dare _she compare him to Loghain, to Howe! How dare she say that their choices were necessary! That _Duncan's _death was necessary! That selling Liara's family and friends into slavery was necessary! And she called him a _child_! He may not know the first thing about being king, but he was man enough to know right from wrong, the witch-!

Alistair stubbed his toe one of the bed legs. Cursing, he hoped on one foot and sat down on the bed cover, rubbing his hand against his toe.

He was so tired of being angry. He didn't think he'd had one moment of peace since the wedding. His head throbbed. His stomach was in a constant state of unrest. He had hardly eaten anything in a week. He was exhausted, and he could see no end in sight.

Wynne suddenly to came to his mind. What had she told him? That it wasn't so bad?

Alistair sighed and fell back onto the covers. _Well, Wynne, _he thought, _it's bad._

As he lay there, wondering what to do with himself, his former companion's faces swam in his head. And suddenly he knew the answer.

He needed someone to talk to. In camp, he could have trusted his burdens with any number of people. Here, in the castle, he had no one. He ran through the list, which wasn't very long. He certainly couldn't talk to Anora - nearly every conversation they had resulted with him being even more frustrated than before. There was Arl Emon, whom Alistair felt he could trust but whom was also exceedingly focused on Alistair honing his abilities as King. Alistair was more likely to get a lecture about his duty to the people than to receive any friendly advice nowadays.

And then there was Bann Teagan, who like Emon was doing his best to prepare Alistair for the kingship but whom played a lesser role. Yes, Alistair thought, if there was anyone he could talk to, it would have to be Teagan. Beyond him, the list dropped short. There were servants, Alistair supposed, but none that he had actually gotten to know or felt a desire to confide in.

Well, that settled it. He was going to talk with Teagan.

Teagan was staying at the castle while he and Emon worked to help Alistair settle in. It was getting late in the day so Alistair was sure Teagan would be in his chambers. Sure enough, when he knocked, Teagan answered and invited him inside.

"She isn't wrong," Teagan told him when Alistair started to explain about his and Anora's earlier conversation. "We have avoided civil war, but it could start back up again easily. Many are watching to see how you and Anora will fair. If the people or the nobles find reason to mistrust your capabilities, civil war could start up again."

Alistair sighed. It was much harder to argue when someone he trusted said it and wasn't yelling at him while they did so. "How bad is it?"

"Oh, everything appears fine for now," Teagan told him. "But this a very delicate period, one where we must wait and see. Anora was right, everyone is watching. Eventually, the people will decide whether or not they trust you as king."

That made him feel better in some ways and worse in others. He liked that the danger for now was small, but he didn't like how it sounded like everything was riding on him.

"It isn't all on you," Teagan said as Alistair voiced his fears. "You and Anora are unit, a team. You must learn to work together. You are King and Queen of Ferelden, not sitting on opposing thrones. The people look to you both."

"She's infuriating," Alistair told him, running his hands through his hair.

Teagan laughed. "I've seen the two of you argue. You are both extremely stubborn in your viewpoints, and it seems you have a particular expertise in pushing each other's buttons."

That took Alistair aback for a moment, to think he and Anora had something in common after all.

"I know it's hard," Teagan told him. "But you must try to see each other as being on the same side. The future of Ferelden depends on it. The throne itself split in opposition will soon reflect on the country itself."

Alistair nodded. He understood what Teagan was trying to tell him. But still, getting along with Anora seemed nearly impossible.


	3. Alliances

Anora steadied her shaking hands against the table. The letter lay unfolded before her. She had read it a number of times, and still she didn't know what to do with it. She wished it would disappear, that she could pretend it didn't exist. But she knew a response was needed, and no matter how she played the options in her head, she didn't like any of them.

"You sent for me?"

She turned at Alistair's voice. He stood at the door to the study. He appeared calm, willing to attend to her needs. She would have been surprised had not a million other things been going through her head. For now, she was grateful for his cooperation.

"Please close the door."

He did so.

Anora picked up the letter that had given her so much grief since she had opened it. "It's from Empress Celene," she told him. "She wishes an audience to discuss the alliance between Orlais and Ferelden."

She looked up at Alistair for his reaction. He appeared to thinking the situation over.

"It would not be wise for both of us to go," he said. "There's still so much that needs to be done since the destruction of the Blight."

"And yet one of us must go," she told him. "We could use any aid from Orlais."

So they were in agreement with one another. The alliance itself made sense, and yet she was unhappy. She paced the room in frustration.

"I know you read Cailan's letters found at Ostagar," she said. "I am still unsure what to think of the idea that Cailan and Celene may have . . ." She couldn't finish it. It was still too strange an idea. She would have though Cailan to have been incapable of such a political maneuver - to divorce her and marry Celene. And yet, the letters themselves seemed to suggest that such a plot had been in planning.

But perhaps to Cailan it hadn't been a plot. Perhaps he had seen himself a great king, a silent conqueror and ruler of the nation that had once conquered and ruled Ferelden. Or perhaps it he had seen himself in love, the valiant knight married to the enchanting empress. Whatever the case, it would appear as though she hadn't known Cailan at all.

She looked to Alistair again, but he was having trouble meeting her eyes. Anora put down the letter and rubber her hands.

"Alistair," she said. "I have no qualms with an alliance with Orlais. I know it is best for Ferelden. But I need one thing from you." This time his eyes met hers. "I need to know you are loyal to Ferelden, that you will not hand this country over to a foreign queen, that you . . ." She stumbled. She needed to know that he was loyal to _her _as well, but how could she ask for something she already knew he could not promise?

"I . . . I need to know," she said, "that you know of my love for this country, that you know of my love for its people, and that you . . . are accepting of my role as Queen."

He turned his face from her, mulling things over. Then finally he spoke.

"I will not abandon you or Ferelden to Celene," he said.

She didn't know if she could trust him, but his words would have to do. She sighed and let her body relax, her mind still not completely at ease. She folded the letter and handed it to Alistair. The matter was now in his hands.

* * *

Alistair really wasn't sure what to think of the whole situation. Could Cailan and Celene truly have been considering . . . He had read the letters, but it still seemed far too outlandish an idea to be real.

He would find out soon enough, though. The carriage ride from Denirm to Celene's palace had been uneventful. He was thankful for the peaceful journey, but it made him uneasy about what lay ahead. Things had simply gone too smoothly thus far.

He was received into Celene's palace by her servants and led through to the waiting room. He was left alone in a room filled with books and elaborate tapestries that seemed to depict historical Orlesian events. There was a small writing desk for study. He swayed back and forth on his feet while he waited to be received, and he could tell even through his heavy boots that the carpet was extremely comfortable. It seemed to push him up from the floor, rather than allowing his weight to press down upon it.

At last, Celene entered the room. She was tall and slender and possessed a kind of ethereal beauty that was hard for Alistair to understand. Her features were all made of sharp angles, and her skin and hair were paler than any he had seen on a healthy human being. And yet Celene radiated power and grace, reminding him of certain creatures he had met in the fade.

It immediately set him on edge.

"King Alistair," she greeted.

"Empress Celene," he replied.

She extended her hand, and he kissed it.

"You may leave us," Celene spoke to the elven servant behind her.

The servant bowed from the room, closing the door behind them as they exited, leaving Celene and Alistair alone.

"I trust the journey was not too taxing," Celene said.

"No," Alistair told her. "In fact it was rather pleasant." He hated political small talk, but Emon insisted it was matter of politeness. He was beginning to understand what Emon had meant. When the business to be discussed was uncomfortable, the weather seemed like a much more pleasurable topic.

"I am glad to hear it." Celene told him. "I thank you for arriving so quickly to discuss the alliance between Orlais and Ferelden. I trust you understand my position."

"I believe I might," Alistair said. The more he mulled over why Celene had insisted on a personal audience with him and Anora, the more he was certain she had expected only he would come. But he prayed to the Maker that he was wrong.

"King Cailan and I had agreed upon steps to establish a strong alliance between our countries," Celene explained. "But then with his untimely death, the battle over the regency, and an unknown king on the throne, I could not be sure if goodwill between our countries had remained intact."

"Let me say that like Cailan I hold no grudge against Orlais," Alistair told her quickly. He wasn't sure what these 'steps' were that she had mentioned, and he also wasn't sure he wanted to find out. "Any aid you could provide during recovery from the Blight would be much appreciated and returned in kind should you have need."

"I am glad to hear it." Celene stepped toward him. "On a more private matter, Cailan and I had made plans for a _permanent_ alliance between Orlais and Ferelden."

Alistair felt his stomach drop. "Marriage?"

He was hoping for a slightly embarrassing moment where Celene told him he was crazy and of course that was not what she and Cailan had been planning. But instead Celene gave a slow, pointed nod.

"Forgive me," he said, his mouth suddenly dry. "Wouldn't such an alliance be highly advantageous for Orlais?"

"Advantageous for Ferelden as well-" Celene started.

"Orlais would be able to gain back her lost territory without any show of force. Any resistance against the throne would be a threat to the stability of both countries."

Celene smiled at him. "You make it sound like a silent infiltration. Do not forget how your country would benefit."

Yes, a stronger country with more land, more people, and an emphasis on education and culture. Ferelden would benefit, but he couldn't see this as anything more or less than a political ploy in which Orlais would gain the most. How had Cailan agreed to this? Surely, he could not have thought this was what the people of Ferelden wanted - forever tied to the country they had fought so hard to gain freedom from? Had he truly thought this best for Ferelden?

His confidence in and respect for King Cailan seemed to plummet. No, this wasn't right. And he would not follow in his processor's footsteps.

"Let me make something perfectly clear," Alistair said. "Ferelden will stand by its alliance to Orlais, and it will do so with Anora and I ruling together as king and queen."

"And you are happy with that arrangement?" she asked, "Marriage to the daughter of the man who betrayed King Cailan?"

Alistair felt a surge of anger. How much had Celene's proposal to marriage played a hand in destroying Loghain's trust and the armies of Ostagar along with it? "You may have had heard rumors regarding my dislike of the match," he said, "but I have no love for politics. And I will not trade one loveless political marriage for another."

"She will not bare you an heir," said Celene. "Everyone knows the Queen is barren."

"I could not care in the least," said Alistair, speaking frankly now that his patience had worn out. He was done with this conversation, and done with Celene.

The empress looked taken aback. She blinked. "Surely," she said slowly, "the Queen is blessed to have so faithful a husband."

Alistair did not know how to respond, so he stayed silent.

"I apologize if I have wasted your time," said the empress.

_You think? _Alistair thought, but did not speak.

"But you see," said Celene, "I had to be sure." She walked toward one of the bookcases and pulled a string. A bell rang somewhere, and a few moments later one of the doors to the study opened and the elven servant from before appeared. "Please make known whatever Ferelden is in need of with my assistant. He shall relay it to me with afternoon, and I will make preparations for aid. I look forward to a continued alliance between our countries."

It was Alistair's turn to be taken aback. He had not expected Celene to be so eager to continue the alliance after he had turned her down. But if she felt any bitterness toward him, it did not show on her face.

She gave a small bow, "Till we meet again, King Alistair," and left the room.

Alistair left a list for aid with the assistant and returned to the carriage to begin the journey home. He had much to occupy him on the way. As he considered the still unbelievable near-betrayal of Cailan, his thoughts turned to Anora.

He had seen the letters brought back from Ostagar. In one, Emon had urged Cailan to divorce Anora and find another wife who could give him a child. Part of Alistair wouldn't mind divorcing Anora himself, but something about the whole situation just seemed wrong. Anora loved Ferelden and its people. Alistair may not agree with her political approach, but he had observed her at court and among Ferelden's citizens. Even he could see her passion, a passion that would not be replaced through Celene, however generous she may seem.

All this time, Alistair had been complaining about how everyone was against him. But he realized that it was Anora whom everyone was against. Even her own husband had been willing to cast her aside. Alistair had the support of his friends and Emon . . . even Anora, he realized, had worked to educate him on the ways of being king. She had tried to help him, unwanted though he may have taken her assistance.

But what had he done to support her? What had anyone done?

Anora, he realized, had no one. Not Cailan, not Emon . . . not even himself.

Celene was wrong. Anora was not lucky. He had been a terrible husband; almost as terrible as Cailan.


	4. Truce

"Well?"

He had thought about it nearly the whole carriage ride, and Alistair still wasn't sure how much he should say to her. Could he reveal the truth of Cailan's betrayal? Could he explain the uncertainty of Celene's interest in Ferelden?

"Empress Celene is sending aid as soon as she is able," he said.

Anora nodded. "And the rest?"

"She . . ." There was no use lying to her, was there? "Did offer a proposal of marriage."

Anora turned her face from him, perhaps to hide any emotion. "I see . . . I . . ." It took her a moment, but she turned her face back to him. "And your response?"

He supposed he shouldn't be surprised that she would ask such a question. What reason did she have to trust him? "I told her that was not an option."

Her whole body seemed to relax. She turned away from him to gaze out the window of the study. "I misjudged you, Alistair. I . . . thank you for your loyalty to Ferelden. It's good to know you won't ruin her on account of hating me."

"I don't . . ." Alistair paused, the words having came out before he even knew he had intended to say them. "Hate you."

She turned to him, surprise evident on her face. "You don't?"

"No, I . . ." He paused again, trying to find the right words. "Anora, when I agreed to be king, I knew it meant agreeing to a new life. I knew there was much I'd have to give up and much I'd have to learn, but I had never thought it would mean . . . marriage . . . to a woman whom, at the time, I cared very little for."

Had his feelings changed so much? No, not drastically, but they had shifted. He still found Anora to be overbearing, annoying, and too tolerant of political expectations, and yet . . . though Loghain may have passed his temperament on to his daughter, Anora was not him. She had been a victim just as much as everyone else. He understood that now when he hadn't before.

"Anora, if you'd let me, I'd . . . I'd like to have lunch with you, alone, tomorrow. No servants fussing about, no watchful guards, just . . . two people trying to decide if they can coexist with one another." When she didn't speak, he added, "Will you allow me that?"

She jumped, as though he had shaken her from some deep thought. "I . . . yes. Yes, I will accompany you."

And then came the awkward moment where now that the matter was settled Alistair didn't know what to do next. "I . . . good. I . . . well, I will see you tomorrow, then."

He left the room as quickly as his feet would carry him.

* * *

Anora didn't know what to expect. Still, she had agreed to meet him in one of the palace courtyards that contained a small garden. He was sitting on the grass when she arrives, a large blanket spread beneath him and a picnic basket at his side. A bottle of wine leaned against the basket, two glasses standing beside it.

He motioned for her to sit as she drew near. It had been a long time since she'd been on a picnic, several years, in fact. She was reminded of her courtship with Cailan. He and Alistair remained so very much alike that it startled her sometimes, now being one of them. Nevertheless, she sat.

"Wine?" he asked, holding up a glass.

She nodded, and he moved to open the bottle.

"Alistair?" she asked, "Not that I'm not ungrateful, but . . . what brought this on? You seemed so upset with being here . . . with me, I . . . why the change?"

He handed her the glass and began to fill his own. "Empress Celene, I guess," he said. "Talking with her, I . . . well, I've spent so much time being angry with everyone, feeling like they'd turned against me. And then, realizing Cailan . . ." He paused, perhaps uncertain it would be wise to approach the subject. "Well, I just saw that I wasn't being fair. I'm sure you'd felt like everyone had turned against you as well, and I figured . . . if we were fighting the same battle, we might as well be on the same side instead of fighting each other."

She sipped the wine so she didn't have to answer right away. She was amazed at his wisdom, even more so at his compassion for her. It was not long ago when she would not have expected either from him.

"Thank you," was all she could think to say.

He sipped his wine, perhaps also in the awkwardness of not knowing what to say. Finally, he half choked, "You're welcome."

She turned away from him, continuing to sip from her glass. There were birds chirping in the tree a few feet in front of them. Next to the tree stood a flowing fountain, casting peaceful sounds of running water through the immediate area. There were flowing bushes on either side of where they sat. It was a very peaceful scene, if not romantic . . . if she could allow herself to think romantic thoughts about the man sitting next to her.

"Forgive me if I'm prying," he said. "How are you with . . . with Cailan?"

She sighed and found that she didn't mind answering. No one had ever really bothered to ask her how she felt on the subject. "I had always felt that the rumors were true," she admitted. "They had just been hard to believe. I think I can make peace with it now that I know the truth."

"Wow."

"What?" she turned to him.

"It's just . . . if it were me, I don't know if I would feel the same."

No, she imagined he wouldn't. She could see him angry, throwing things about the room and disturbing the servants. The image actual brought a smile to her lips, and she raised her glass to hide it.

"More wine?" he asked, now that her glass was nearly empty.

"Please." She felt very relaxed, an unheard of luxury for royalty. She didn't know if it was an effect of the wine or the courtyard or . . . something else. But if Alistair noticed a more lighthearted change in her behavior, she would rather have the wine to blame.

He filled her glass and his own.

"Did you love him?" he asked.

She looked at him this time and saw everything that reminded her of her previous husband. "Yes, I did," she said softly. Then, afraid her emotions might betray her, she turned away. "It can be hard when you're betrothed as a child. You start to wonder if maybe you've missed something. Cailan, for his faults, was lovable."

"Yet his betrayal with Celene didn't surprise you?" he asked slowly.

"Oh, it surprised me," she said. "But I've had time to think about it. And . . . well, during our betrothal . . . Cailan wasn't exactly faithful."

Alistair looked surprised.

"As I said, you start to wonder if you missed something. I don't fault Cailan for that. I had no doubts as to his faithfulness after our marriage, but . . ."

"Now with Celene . . ." Alistair supplied.

Anora took a large sip of wine. "I try not to think about it," she told him. "I'd rather have good memories of my time with him, not resentful ones."

She had expected him to look surprised again, but this time she found him in thought. At last he nodded and said, "I understand."

He tilted back his half-full glass and finished it. "Lunch?" He started digging into the basket before she nodded her agreement.

Anora reached for the bottle and started filling their glasses again while he pulled out two carefully wrapped sandwiches. As soon as she unfolded the parchment, she recognized the meal immediately. It was one of her favorites: chicken with lettuce, tomato, a tart fruit, and some kind of spicy sauce the cooks refused to tell her the name or make of.

She looked at Alistair, "How did you-?"

He held up his hands. "All I did was inform the cooks I was taking you on a picnic. If they packed your favorite meal, I'm afraid I can't take credit for it."

Anora looked down at the sandwich, beautiful in all its color. It would seem that the cooks had wanted Alistair to make a good impression.

She took a bite, and watched as Alistair did the same. Eventually, he nodded his approval.

"What about you?" she asked him. "Have you ever been in love?"

He chewed slowly and swallowed. "Y-yes."

She stared at him while she waited for an answer.

"Liara," he said.

"Oh." The news both surprised her and didn't. She supposed she should have realized it sooner. "What happened?"

"I agreed to be a candidate for the throne," he said. "And that brought up questions as to whether there could be a future for us." He chewed his sandwich. "Liara wanted to end things. She didn't think there was a point to dragging something out that couldn't be, but I wasn't ready to let go." He sighed, sipped the wine. "We tried for a while, but . . . she was a little more in touch with reality than I."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"It turned out for the best," he said. "She's engaged and happy. And I'm king, like I wanted, so . . . if I could go back and do it over, I'd make the same decision. I don't think she and I were meant to stay together."

"No?"

"They say the Maker puts some people in your life so you can learn from them, but they are only meant to stay with you a little while. And then they have to move on so you can learn something new from someone else. "

"You believe that?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes it's easier to believe in such things."

"And what did she teach you?"

Alistair looked at her, thoughtfully, and after finishing another bite of his sandwich said, "Compassion." Then he turned away from her.

They ate the rest of their meal in silence and finished off the bottle of wine. There were apples in the basket, and they munched on those as well.

Anora found herself just as unsure of what to think the situation as she had been when she walked in. It seemed that Alistair wanted a kind of truce between them, more than that even. He had said they were on the same team, and isn't that what she had wanted? Still, the idea that he was so willing to be agreeable caught her off guard. Perhaps it was as he had said; she felt like everyone was against her. It seemed hard to trust him, even though she wanted to.

Perhaps she just needed to get everything out in the air. "I can't have children."

He looked at her. "What?"

"At least it seems very unlikely. Cailan and I tried, but . . . after five years . . ."

"Anora," he said softly. "I'm not looking for an heir."

"But, it's expected-"

"I can't have children."

"I - what?"

"At least it seems very unlikely," he said, repeating her. "You see, being a Grey Warden . . . the taint kind of . . . messes with all of that."

"Oh." She hadn't known. And now that she did . . .

A large part of her was tremendously relieved, knowing that he couldn't turn against her for the same reason everyone else had.

And with that relief, came the realization that she no longer had a reason not to trust him.

And that scared her.


	5. Family Reuion

The next two weeks were filled will public appearances and more hours holding court than usual. With Alistair's trip to Orlais and mistrust among the people as to the country's "interference," Eamon insisted it was vital for Alistair and Anora to appear united, not just in their rule but in their marriage as well.

It could have been disastrous, but they were learning to compromise. Knowing that he would never change his mind, Anora found herself giving in to Alistair's hard rule over what he called "political nonsense." And while it did cause some waves among the nobles, she came to realize that as long as she stood with his decision little negative consequence seemed to come of it. In fact, the court was soon filled more "practical" matters than "nonsense," and she found she was happy for it, along with Alistair.

Alistair knew Anora was not going to let him take over the rule, and he was practical about her experience as a monarch. He found a balance between putting his foot down in matters when she would have given in for "political reasons" and stepping aside in other situations and letting her handle things. Together, the two of them learned when to take a step back from the other and when to step forward. In this way, power passed between the two of them with little argument.

In their public appearances, Eamon insisted the two of them act more like a couple. They did their best to appease him, a touch of the hand here, a brushing of lips against the face there. Though Eamon pressed for more, they both ignored him. They were trying hard to build trust with one another, and they both knew that if they pushed too much, even for the sake of appearances, resentment would flood back in.

In many ways, the next two weeks were about taking care of themselves and learning from one another, rather than about running a country and appeasing the nobility. And in many ways, as their ability to rule side by side improved, the country followed, enraptured by the King and Queen they were coming to love and adore.

But peace and simplicity could never last for long. During one public appearance, a mad woman appeared, claiming to be Alistair's sister and insisting she and her children were to be given their dues. She was taken from the scene by a number of guards, and Anora was confident that was the last she'd see or hear from the woman. But then she saw the look on Alistair's face as they were returning to the castle.

"Who was that woman?" she asked.

"She's . . . my half sister, on my mother's side," he admitted.

Anora was surprised. Surely, given Alistair's nature, had he had family whom could benefit through his kingship, he would have said something long ago. Furthermore, she was certain Alistair never would have let the woman be carried away. "I hadn't heard of her," she said.

"She's only after money," Alistair said coldly. "I was hoping . . ."

He didn't finish. As he sat in their carriage in silence, Anora considered how best to remedy the situation. "You could just deny her. She isn't of royal blood and has no claims unless you grant them."

Alistair looked pained, like he was deciding between a rock and hard place. He chewed on his cheek. "She has children," he said finally. "Five of them."

Anora sighed. She could see the moral dilemma he was facing. "You can't grant the children anything without acknowledging her claims. And the children could be just as bad as their mother."

Alistair nodded. "That's true . . . I never got to meet them, so I don't . . . children don't always grow up to be their parents."

"That is . . . also true." If it were up to Anora, she'd simply deny the woman and that would be the end of the matter. But Alistair was too noble to consider that option.

Although his morality made things more difficult most of the time, Anora was coming to respect him for it. She had made herself believe there were simply some things you had to do, whether you liked it or not. But Alistair didn't believe as she did, and he was starting to show her that she didn't always have to give up what she believed was right for what she believed would help the country. It was a nice change, even if she still felt Alistair could be a little _too _naive in certain areas.

Still, this matter fell to him, and she was going to let him make it. He was happier when he followed his morals. And when he was happy, not only was the strife between the two of them lessened, but he made better decisions as a ruler. The benefits to the country might be more subtle, but Anora could see they were there. Fighting with him only resulted in more suffering, for the two of them and everyone else.

"What do you want to do?" she asked.

"She's a wash maid," he said slowly. "I don't suppose we could set her up with a noble we don't like? And invite her children to visit the castle?"

Anora didn't mind his suggestion about the mother, but the children . . . an invitation to the castle or a visit by the king at their home or any other location was still an acknowledgement of the family's claim. She didn't like it, but it seemed the best solution.

"And," she asked him, "if they turn out to be spoiled brats?"

"Then," he said. "Their mother will have a stable position to provide for them, which will be her responsibility to keep, and the children will not be invited back."

That sounded reasonable . . . even if a bit uncomfortable. How would this effect the nobility? What kind of gossip would be thrown around?

She wanted to protest, but the half-hopeful, half-pleading look on Alistair's face stopped her. This was important to him, and they were both trying so hard to be supportive of one another. She couldn't deny him this.

"It is done," she said.

The smile on his face helped to recover the sinking feeling that had filled her stomach.

* * *

Alistair couldn't believe it. Never again had he thought he would see Loghain's treacherous face. Yet, there he was, standing in the castle, embracing his daughter.

Alistair wanted to burst into a rage. He imaged a glorious scene where he miraculously tapped the berserker power of the dwarves and ripped Loghain limb from limb.

But then he saw the look on Anora's face. She was happy to see her father.

Alistair felt some his anger lessen a little. No, he would not attack. He would remain calm. For Anora's sake, he would be as civilized as he possibly could. Maker help him.

Loghain looked his way and Alistair prayed fiercely that the man did not attempt to make any form of pleasantries with him. Perhaps his countenance betrayed his emotion, or perhaps his prayers were answered, because Loghain looked quickly away from him and engaged his daughter in conversation.

"I'll just let you two catch up, shall I?" Alistair said pointedly. He walked swiftly away from them.

Once he felt he was at a safe distance, he leaned against one of the pillars of the throne room, empty now that court wasn't being held. He prayed again to the Maker for strength.

Anora had done so much for him recently, stepped aside so many times when he knew she would rather argue. The very least he could do was not attempt to murder her father.

But it was hard.

He had thought a lot about what Anora had said, that Loghain had only done what he had thought was right. And maybe, just maybe he could understand _some_ of Loghain's actions. Cailan _had_ planned to abandon Anora. That explained Loghain's mistrust of Orlais beyond just historical disagreements. And maybe Loghain _had_ saved lives by pulling his forces from the seemingly unstoppable darkspawn horde.

But the slavery, the torture . . . maybe most of it had come at Arl Howe's hand. But could Loghain truly not have realized what Howe had been doing? And the events at the circle . . . maybe Loghain hadn't intended for Ulred to become an abomination, but still . . . he had played some part in it.

Forgiveness was hard. . . . Alistair wasn't sure had the aptitude for it. Not with Loghain anyhow.

"I was just stopping by to see my daughter before I left Ferelden."

Alistair jumped. Oh, dear Maker! Was he really expected to speak with this man?!

"I've heard tell I'll be stationed in Orlais soon to work with the wardens there," Loghain told him.

Alistair was horrified. What imbecile made that daft decision?

"Don't worry," Loghain said, "I have no intentions on ruining Ferelden relations with Orlais, as much as it might kill me. I'm a Warden now. I'm trying to do that role some justice."

It still angered Alistair that Loghain had joined the order. And the more he thought on it, the angrier it made him. To quicken the conversation, he said, "Did you want something?"

"Only to thank you for not abandoning Anora. She told me about your denial to Empress Celene. And, well . . ." He turned to look back at his daughter who was still standing where Alistair had left them. "I haven't seen that smile on her face in a long time."

For a moment, Alistair felt something different than anger. Anora, smiling? At him? The pillar blocked his view, and he wanted to lean around it to catch a glimpse. But Loghain had turned back to him.

"I know you may never come to feel anything less than strong dislike for me," he said. "But I thank you for what you've done for my daughter. It's nice to know she'll be taken care of."

Loghain extend his hand, and Alistair was sure he'd rather eat poison than return the gesture. But he thought again of Anora. It was only a small gesture, and she deserved that much from him. He only hoped she'd be able to see it.

Slowly, he held out his hand and clasped Loghain's. Their handshake as mercifully short, and Loghain thankfully didn't stick around for goodbyes. He simply turned, without a word, back toward his daughter.

Alistair leaned against the pillar, feeling for a moment like that simple act had sapped all his strength. Eventually, he turned to glance around the corner. As he did so, he thought he saw the fleeting glimpse of a smile on Anora's face directed right at him before her father took her arm and walked her away.


	6. Night Visit

"Can I come in?" Anora asked from the door that connected her bed chamber to his.

Alistair was sitting under the bedcovers, a book open in his hands. His shirt was removed - Anora hadn't expected that. "Are you . . . decent?"

He laughed. "Yes, I do have night clothes on." He waved a hand. "Come in."

She took his invitation. Closing the door behind her, she sat down next to him on the bed. "What are you reading?"

He turned to his book. "It's about the Grey Wardens and the Blight, back when they had griffons." He looked at the bookshelves around the room. "Cailan had good taste."

Yes, adventure stories. Anora knew the bookshelves were full of them, as many books as Cailan had fancy for, which meant a lot. She was surprised Alistair shared that same fancy. He and Cailan were a lot alike, but lately Anora had been learning to appreciate their differences.

She liked not having the weight of the county resting solely on her shoulders, as surprising a find it was. And for all his stubbornness, Alistair had been trying hard - really hard - to see past his personal grievances. It was . . . a blessing.

"I've been meaning to thank you," she said, "for how you handled my father the other day. You didn't have to be civil, I wasn't expecting you to be, but you were. I know it wasn't easy for you."

She had never openly acknowledged his side of the argument before. He had perfectly valid reasons, but it was hard for her to support him when he was calling for her father's head on a pike. But she acknowledged them now, and she hoped that counted for something. Conversations involving her father usually dissolved quickly.

"I didn't do it for him or even myself," he said, looking at his book instead of her. "I did it because . . . I know how important it was to you."

That surprised her. "Th-thank you." She couldn't think of anything else to say.

He sighed, and put the book down. "Anora, I -" He looked at her as though seeing her for the first time. "Do you normally wear your hair down?"

"Oh!" Her hand went to her hair. "F-for bed, yes. I do."

"You look-" He stopped. "Well, you always look-" He sighed. "You'll hate me for saying it, but you are a beautiful woman, Anora."

She knew he meant it as a compliment, but she instinctively bristled. How long had she fought to be seen as more than a just a pretty face, to prove herself just as capable as any man?

"And intelligent, strong, independent . . . several other 'man-ish' adjectives." He sighed again. "What I'm trying to say is . . . you surprise me. You're not the person I thought you were."

She relaxed at his words. She understood. "I have thought the exact same thing about you," she admitted.

"Oh, good!" he said, a little over enthusiastic. "I mean, we're of two minds . . . on that at least." He seemed a little flustered, unsure whether to place his gaze on her or the book or somewhere else around the room.

"Am I . . .? Should I go?" she asked.

"No!" he said, a little too loudly. "No. I . . . I feel like I'm saying everything wrong."

His awkwardness was endearing and she couldn't help but smile.

"And you're smiling," he said. "So I'm alright, for the moment. Let me start over." He took a deep breath. "Anora, I know I said you and I should be on the same team, but I've realized that I don't just want our lives to be two people trying to find the correct combination for successfully ruling a country. I'd like . . . well, I don't just want to be king. I'd like to try to be a husband as well, if you'd let me."

It took her a moment to realize what he was asking, and even then she couldn't quite wrap her mind around it. "Are you . . . ? Do you mean . . . ?"

"If it's a bad idea," he said quickly, "then forget I even mentioned it."

"I . . ." Alistair and her together, truly as a couple? Not just pretending to be one for the country's sake?

She wanted to trust him, she really did. But it was hard. She had trusted Eamon and Cailan, and they both had turned against her. Alistair was . . . sweet, and so different from Cailan in a lot of ways. He had proven over and over that he cared little for political plots. There was so much that told her she could let her guard down, that it would be safe. But she had thought the same before and had been stabbed in the back.

He was looking at her, waiting for answer, and she realized that at some point she had reached out and grabbed his wrist, preventing him from drawing away from her. She didn't want him to turn away, but she was too scared to make any kind of move.

"Alistair," she said at last, her voice sounding weaker than she would have liked. She cleared her throat. "This is not easy for me."

"I know," he said, his thumb rubbing against her arm beneath where her hand still clasped his wrist. "But I'm not Cailan. I wouldn't hurt you."

Tears threatened to well in her eyes, but she forced them down. How badly she wanted to believe him, to know she didn't have to fight anymore. But he couldn't make such promises, and she could not afford to believe them.

"I'm not crazy," he said, leaning in toward her. Anora tried leaning away, but she had nowhere to go but to sink into the pillow behind her. "You do feel the same."

She wanted to protest, but when she opened her mouth, she could find no words.

And then Alistair kissed her.

Her mind could protest all it wanted, but her body offered no resistance. She wanted this, even if it was against her better judgment. When he moved to pull away from her, she pulled him back down, pressing her lips to his. She wrapped her arms around him, keeping him close because she was afraid that if she let him part from her, her resistances would fight back.

Her actions surprised him; she could tell by the way his lips curved. But he soon kissed her again, pulling her to him in the same manner she had pulled him. She let the joy of the moment fill her, push her resistances back until she couldn't hear them and she could kiss him as fully and eagerly as she wished, damn all sense to the contrary.

Alistair returned every passionate gesture, apparently having no qualms to the matter. They perused each other until they were both a little breathless.

"Well," he said, amused when they finally parted. His lips were redder than usual, probably due to the force she'd been kissing them. "I guess that settles that."

She smiled at him. It was the strangest thing; months ago she couldn't stand this man, and now . . . the word "husband" came to mind. It still founded foreign, but it had that hopeful ring to it. Just maybe, they could make this work.

"I have to admit," he said. "I didn't think past me kissing you and you possibly hitting me, so . . . I'm not sure where to go from here."

She wasn't sure herself. But she liked where she was at the moment, warm against the pillows and comfortable in Alistair's presence.

"You're welcome to stay," he said. "We don't have to do anything beside sleep, but I'd like your company."

"You can have it," she said, not wanting to leave him.

"I . . . could, um . . ." He picked up the book that had gotten shoved to the edge of the bed. "Read to you, if you'd like."

He looked half torn between wanting to read to her and wanting to continue kissing her. Part of her was torn as well, but she didn't want to press things. Though in her current state, she liked the idea of taking things further, she was worried about doing too much at once. And it had been a long time since she'd enjoyed anyone's nightly company. Did she want Alistair because of how she felt toward him or because of a more physical nature? She wasn't completely sure. It was possible it was a mix of both, but she didn't want to ruin what they had going. It was best to play things safe for the moment.

"I would like that," she told him.

The book wasn't her taste, but Alistair seemed to enjoy it and his enthusiasm for the tale rubbed off on her. She found herself leaning her head against his shoulder as he read, and eventually she fell asleep.

* * *

Alistair awoke in a cold sweat, struggling against something covering his hands. Two arms wrapped around him and he struggled against those too.

"Alistair!" Anora cried. "Alistair, calm down! It's alright!"

It took him a moment to realize he was in bed with Anora beside him, his arms struggling against the covers and her embrace. He calmed down, but his breathing was heavy and he felt unnaturally cold.

"It's alright," Anora told him, drawing closer to him. "It's okay." His skin must have felt cold to her too because she picked up the blanket and rubbed his arm with it.

"I was dreaming," he told her. "There were darkspawn."

"I thought wardens didn't dream about them unless there was a Blight."

Alistair wiped the sweat from his forehead. "They don't," he said. "Not usually. . . . They were talking."

"The darkspawn?"

"Yeah." The very thought of it, recalling the dream, the sound of their voices, it brought a shiver down his spine.

"It must have been a nightmare, Alistair," she said, continuing in her efforts to warm him. "It couldn't have been real."

"No," he said. "You're right." It was unusual to dream about darkspawn normally, without it being due to the Grey Warden's connection with them. But darkspawn didn't talk; it couldn't have been real.

He left himself relax. Anora continued to wrap him in blankets and rub his arms.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"I'll be okay," he said, grateful for her presence. The dreams were always easier when there was someone else who could understand. His muscles were still tense, like they expected his dream to come alive at any moment, for his bedroom to be ambushed by darkspawn.

"Am I helping?" Anora asked, still diligently working to relax him.

He nodded. "Very much." He remembered the aftermath of dreams where he could do little more than talk about them to other Wardens. There were nights at camp when he'd had Liara, but they could do little to relax each other when they had both been victims of the dream's terrible grip. This, with Anora, was much better.

"Talk to me," he suggested.

"About what?"

"Anything," he said. "It helps to distract."

"Alight," she thought for a moment. "I never did get around asking how your visit with your nieces and nephews went."

Alistair nearly laughed. He had tried so hard to block that memory from his mind. "They're bundles of joy," he told her. "Just as you expected."

"I'm sorry," she said, and she truly sounded like it.

Anora had made herself busy that day, and Alistair had been left to greet the children on his own. The whole evening had been filled with the children asking about their inheritance, wondering aloud when they were going to get their own room in the castle, and making rude remarks to the servants. Alistair had to stop the eldest one from stealing some of the silver as they were leaving. On all accounts, he'd considered it a near disaster.

"Will you be inviting them back?"

Alistair sighed. He felt like he had to. "I just keep thinking that maybe having another voice in their lives other than their mother's might help them. The youngest one, Alice, she's young enough to imitate her mother but not quite old enough to understand. The older ones . . . sometimes you don't realize the wisdom of your elders until much later." He was thinking of himself and Eamon.

Anora sighed. "It's important to you," she said. "And I . . . I will try to be there next time."

Alistair turned to look at her. "You don't like children, do you?"

Anora scrunched up her face. "No, I-" She relaxed. "You have to understand, I always knew I was going to be expected to have an heir. Having children was a duty, never something I had the opportunity to choose or want for myself. And as a woman, as a queen, it was the only thing I was thought of as being good for. And when I couldn't provide an heir, then I wasn't considered fit for the throne. Every child is an expectation that I am held against and cannot rise to. And every time I'm seen near a child, the nobles are reminded of that. I can't just . . ."

He took her hand. "You don't have to be there, Anora."

"No," she said. "I want to be, I should be . . . for you. And if one voice other than their mother's might be good for them, then why not two? And . . . neither one of us wants to say it but I think we're both thinking . . . this might be an opportunity for us to find an heir, someone related who can understand to the common struggles of the people . . . as long as they're not out for personal gain."

He nodded. He had thought the same thing. "I have hope," he told her, though he wasn't sure if he was hoping more for an heir or for family.

"Then I will try to have hope too."

He smiled at her. Placing a hand gently on the side of her face, he kissed her. "Thank you."

She smiled back, "You are very welcome."

He kissed her again, all thoughts of the dream forgotten and his mind only on the woman sitting next to him. It was both the oddest and most wonderful feeling to be with her. He had despised this woman months ago . . . but as he'd said, she wasn't who he'd thought she was. Every day she seemed to surprise him with her kindness and compassion. He knew, even if the phrase seemed foreign, this was a woman he could fall in love with.

It was quite possible he was falling faster than he realized.

"I should let you sleep," he said, pulling away from their soft and gentle kisses.

"Do you want to sleep?" she asked him.

"No," he admitted. "Do you?"

She pulled him toward her and kissed him again. He responded by wrapping an arm around her, pulling her closer until their bodies pressed together. They settled into the sheets, and Alistair moved from her lips to kiss her neck.

"Let me know," he said, "if you're uncomfortable with any of this."

"Don't talk me into changing my mind," she said in a tone that clearly told him to shut up.

He was surprised at how comfortable he felt. Part of him still couldn't believe the two of them could carry on a friendly conversation let alone be in bed together. But he knew he wanted this, even if part of him was still in disbelief. But Anora had been so unsure earlier, he didn't want to pressure her. "Are you absolutely sure you-?"

Anora raised her head and captured his lips with hers.

Alistair didn't need told again.


	7. Awakening

Anora always hated this part of being royalty. It was hard with Cailan, and it was hard with Alistair.

They couldn't both go on the journey, that was understood. Someone had to stay behind at the castle and make sure other matters of the crown were taken care of. And having the king and queen on the road together made the crown susceptible to bandit attacks or assassination attempts. It was common sense to protect the crown by not having the king and queen in the same place, except for the castle and during extremely important matters when both parties had to be present.

But Anora hated being left behind. Worse, she hated waiting. And somehow, it always seemed to fall to her to stay behind. Oh, she would argue in many cases, but not this. If something was going on with the darkspawn, then it made sense for Alistair to go. He was a Warden, after all.

"I'll be back soon," he said, and kissed her gently.

Oh, that wasn't what she wanted, not in the slightest. She pulled him closer and kissed him passionately, too passionately she was sure for their public appearance. Eamon wouldn't be happy, but Eamon be damned. He was her husband, and she'd kiss him any way she pleased.

The crowd seemed to take to it anyway. At least, she assumed those gasps and cries were positive. She and Alistair had become quite popular as of late, she doubted the public minded if she was a little enthusiastic with the affection the two of them showed one another.

Alistair caressed her check with his thumb. "We'll continue this when I get back," he whispered.

"I'll hold you to it," she whispered in return. Let him think on that while _he _waited. Maybe it would get him home a little faster.

* * *

He was disappointed when he arrived. No darkspawn to fight and Orlesian Grey Wardens missing. On top of that, there was little he could do to help. It was frustrating, to say the least. All he could do was give Liara instructions on what to do next, not that she wasn't intelligent enough to plan a course of action herself.

And then he was turned away, back to the carriage that would take him to some tent that had been put up or some room in some establishment were he would make plans to remedy the situation and hand out orders without actually doing any real work himself. Some days, he hated being king. But, as he reminded himself, he had wanted to be king. And he did for the most part actually like the job . . . except for the annoying parts.

"Alistair!"

He turned to see Liara running toward him. She had broken away from her new companions. He stopped to meet her.

"I . . ." she said. "Well, you . . . you don't seem as angry."

A shock ran through him. So much had changed since he'd spoke with Liara last that he had nearly forgotten their past few conversations.

"I . . . no," he said. "You're right. I'm not." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I'm still not happy about your decision to spare Loghain, but . . . I did want to be king, and Anora . . ." He couldn't help the faintest trace of a smile from forming on his lips.

Liara must have noticed because she smiled back him. "I had hoped," she said.

He nodded at her. He didn't always agree with her decisions, but she always did what she thought was for the best, and somehow things seemed to work out. "I'm not angry," he told her. "And I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," she said.

There was an awkward moment between them, during which neither of them knew what else say. Eventually Liara turned and retreated back to her group.

Alistair returned his guard, wondering how this day could get any stranger.

* * *

_Anora,_

_It seems I will be gone longer than either of us had anticipated. A number of Orlesian Grey Wardens have gone missing, and it seems some darkspawn have acquired the power of speech after all. The whole ordeal must be investigated thoroughly. _

_Though I arrived too late to battle any darkspawn, my main disappointment is how much longer this means I will be away from you. I know you promised to visit with the nieces and nephews if I did not return in time, but, my dear, you do not need to. In fact, I'm sure some time away from the castle might do them good. They should not become so adjusted that they feel these visits are an entitlement._

_Liara and I are on speaking terms again. I had nearly forgotten about our previous conversations. You must remind me to write her when I return. In fact, there are several of my former companions I would like to reconnect with if any of them can be tracked down._

_Don't let the nobles give you too much trouble while I'm gone. Just think of me and what I would do. Though I'm sure you'll just smirk at this and do whatever you'd normally do anyway._

_Eagerly awaiting the moment when I see you again,_

_Love, Alistair_

* * *

_Alistair,_

_I apologize for being grateful you haven't had the opportunity to put yourself in harm's way, though as an experienced Grey Warden I know you are perfectly capable. And I'm also glad you and Liara are speaking once again._

_I agree completely the children should not grow to see their visits to the castle as privilege. I did still invite them, but in less than an hour I was called away on important business, and I left them all under the direct care and supervision of the servants. I know at least one of them is being made to help with dinner this afternoon. With any luck they will learn some respect. At worst, they will have some awful reports to give to their mother about their aunt._

_I can feel the questions about an heir coming up. They are so much easier to dodge with you here. The nobles have even started plotting about who is closest in line or who we might default the throne to. _

_Would you believe Eamon thinks we aren't trying? We could stage a passionate kissing session in front of him. That would certainly irritate him, and I've been wanting to find a way to get back at him. What do you think?_

_Love, always _

_Anora_

* * *

It was a joy when he finally arrived home and she saw him step out of the carriage. The smile on her face was visible for all to see, and she didn't care. It seemed she cared less and less to hide her emotions these days.

But she didn't have to prove her worth or value anymore. Alistair saw it, and that was enough. He would stand by her and defend her from anything, she was confident of it. He had proven it time and time again, and though she no longer needed proof, he continued to show her his devotion.

She had loved Cailan. But her love for Alistair was different, stronger. They were a couple truly united, accepting of each other faults and willing to understand and cooperate with one another, not just let the other go their own way. To her, it seemed like nothing could break them apart.

But for Alistair it was joyous moments like these when he was suddenly struck with a terrible sadness. He wanted it to, but it wouldn't last forever. Anora would grow old without him.

He reminded himself that thirty years could be a long time, and that's what he focused on. They were together now, and strong in their unity, and he would give everything he could to keep that for as long as possible. He would cherish her every day the Maker choose to give him. And he would make sure Anora knew how he felt.

He dreaded the moment when he would have to tell her goodbye, when he would leave her side to journey into the Deep Roads for one last battle against the darkspawn. He would not die wasting away in his bed. That was not the death for him, and he would not let Anora suffer through seeing him that way. It would be a hard moment, but he hoped to live a lifetime of love before it came.

He had once thought being with the Wardens as being home, and it always felt strange when he realized home was with Anora. With her was where he'd spend the happiest moments of his life. And he intended to give back to her as many happy moments as he received. He would love her in all the ways that he could, and he would make sure she knew it.

Politics, infertility, darkspawn, natural disasters, they would work through all of it together. And even when the world was forcing them apart, he would spend as much time as he could loving her. It seemed a worthy charge to hold himself to.

He would love her until the end.


End file.
